Final images spring from Brownie,
as it floats by smouldering pyramids.
Poppies shudder in waves,
nearby is the last
Kodak processing plant.
Dead film processing technicians
ring us up with questions
from a broken telephone at the dump.
They want to know
who betrays Kodak magic
for a night of drunken mating.
They insinuate that an apprehension
of spirit separates them from us.
But sprung Brownie
has already laid down beside us,